The Return of Philoctetes
by of-souffles-and-daleks
Summary: after a long, uneventful week, a gruesome murder is just what Sherlock wants. But when he meets the mysterious Torchwood, he is forced to believe in all things he refuses to accept. rated T for language. R&R
1. A Strange Murder

**This idea occurred to me in a dream (as do most of my stories. One day I'll write them all down). No flames please!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. Wish I did, but I don't. :(**

Sherlock stared absent-mindedly at the ceiling. He had had no case for a week, and he was getting increasingly bored with the callers that came to his door moaning about their marriages, or the 'suspicious looking man next door'. Surely, he thought, people were given eyes for a reason. But that's what he found so annoying, how people look but do not observe. He was also annoyed with the amount of blogging John did about any half interesting cases. So, all in all, this week had not been all the best for Sherlock Holmes. So when the phone began to ring, instead of shouting to John or Mrs Hudson to pass it to him, he jumped up and leapt, quite literally, across the room, knocking over the armchair in the process, much to John's amusement.  
>'Hello?' Sherlock answered the phone.<br>'Sherlock, I think you should see this' Molly's voice replied to him.  
>'Ah, hello Molly. Anything interesting happening with the dead people?'<br>'That's why I called. I need you to take a look at this body that's just arrived. Its really…'  
>But Sherlock had heard enough. With a 'be there in five' he hung up the phone, and went to grab his coat, falling over the armchair now lying on the floor. 'Ok, who leaves chairs lying on the floor?'<br>'Sherlock..' John started to reply, but Sherlock ignored him.  
>'I could have broken my neck!'<br>'Sherlock…' again, he was ignored.  
>'its really very irresponsible..'<br>'YOU where the one who knocked it over!' John shouted. Sherlock looked at him.  
>'oh, yes, yes I was. why didn't you tell me? Anyway, down to business….' He grabbed his coat and scarf, '..Molly needs me to go and look at a strange body. You coming?'<br>'Well, yes, of course I am.' John closed his laptop and put on his coat, as Sherlock ran out of the door.

'That is disgusting' stated John, looking down at the corpse.  
>You may wonder why said corpse was so 'disgusting'. The answer, there was a gaping hole in the victims chest, where the heart was meant to be. But the heart was not there.<br>'This is all very _Snow White_ isn't it. ''when you have taken her into the forest, you will kill her, and bring me back her heart'' and all that jazz.'  
>'So, what does that tell us about the killer?' John asked, looking towards Sherlock. Sherlock examined the corpse, seeing every tiny detail from the corpses natural blonde hair to the chipped nail varnish on her right index finger.<br>'That he likes fairy tales,' Sherlock muttered.  
>'This is Rosemary Taylor. Born 2nd December 1993. Just turned 18. Twin sister to Holly Taylor. Daughter to….'<br>'ok, we don't need to know the boring details, thank you Molly.' Sherlock looked up. 'you've cut your hair. It suits you'  
>Molly smiled. 'Thank you.'<br>'where was the body found?' asked John.  
>'in an alley off Oxford Street. She'd been shopping with her friends as a birthday party. Her friends never saw what happened…'<br>'Are her friends still here?' Sherlock asked.  
>'Two of them are, yes. Sophia Young and…..'<br>'Again, Molly, No need for the useless details. Now John, you stay here with Molly and do you're doctor-y stuff. I'm going to talk to the friends'  
>'Sherlock, do remember that their friend has just been murdered. Tone it down a bit, will you?' John always worried slightly when Sherlock interrogated. He was never very tactful. He turned to Molly. 'Shall we?'<p>

The two teenagers where in the waiting room. One was tanned, with bleach-blonde hair. The other, the smaller of the two, had long, red hair and pale skin. Shopping bags lay around their feet as they sat with their head in their hands. Sherlock walked in and spotted them. He approached them. None of them seemed to acknowledge his existence. He pulled up a chair and sat in front of them. It wasn't until he spoke that they looked up.

'What happened when Rosemary Taylor was murdered? Tell me everything.'

**Reviews are always welcome! Please do tell me if you want something to happen or if I've done something wrong. :)**

**I will try to update regularly, but this is my GCSE year so I will be busy a lot of the time. It also depends on what mood I'm in. (which is why I havnt updated my other stories in centuries. sorry)**

**much love, Hatselena xx**


	2. Another Attack

**sorry for the long wait. I've had shitloads of work, as well as been rather ill. Word of advice – unless you want to do a hell of a lot of work, do not take Art for GCSE. Stupidly, I also decided to take it for A-level. Joy. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. :(**

'What happened when Rosemary Taylor was murdered? Tell me everything.'  
>The two girls loked at eachother, wondering who would talk first. After a few minutes, when Sherlock was growing impatient, the red-haired girl spoke<p>

'Are you the police?'

'No. im the man who is going to catch Rosie's killer' he replied, with a hint of pride.

'who are you then?' the red-head asked.

'Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective. now tell me, what happenned to Rosemary Tyler?'

'I don't know! one minute, she was behind us, she was looking for her phone in her bags. we turned the corner and heard a scream from behind us. and when we looked for her she…she…we saw…we saw her. on the floor…bleeding like mad. Sophia called the police and I went to see if I could help her and….i…I saw…it was…'

'so you didn't see anything? either of you?' Sherlock asked. They must know something else, he thought.

'no. we didn't.'

'Ok. right. is there anything else you can tell me? anything?' he urged them to talk.

'no, sorry'

'Sherlock!' called a voice down the hall. Sherlock turned to the door as it flew open.

'Sherlock, theres been another murder.' said John Watson. 'same as Rosemary's. Lestrade wants you to come at once'

'ok, call a cab,' Sherlock turned to the girls. 'im sorry for your loss' he said before walking towards the door.

'WAIT!' yelled the bleach-blonde girl. Sherlock turned towards them. 'before she screamed…before she died…um…I saw a…well…a blue light, like something glowing, or something.'

'ok, I'll bear that in mind' he said before leaving the waiting room.

'This body was found by the couple who own the house. Mr Thomas was just renting,' Lestrade explained to Sherlock and John as they walked into the room where the dead man lay. Sure enough, there was a gaping wound on the left-hand-side of the chest.

'exactly the same as Rosemary Taylor,' John stated. 'is there any link between the two victims?

'none whatsoever. apart from the fact that they're both British. Although, this way of death isn't new to us,' said Lestrade. Sherlock looked quizically at Lestrade, who continued, 'There where lots of deaths like this recorded throughout history, some descriptions dating back to the early 18th century. nobody's ever gotton near to finding the victim. although they did seem to stop a few years back…'

Sherlock had stopped listening. Instead, he was examining the body in the same way he examined Rosemary's.

'any ideas?' John asked him.

'a few. We know he was killed on the scene, there are pools of blood everywhere, and drips coming down the stairs, if you noticed, John, so the killer would have killed him then walked away, so we should ask the neighbours if they saw anything. His clothing is dry, so he could have been here a while, it started raining an hour ago. if he'd have been in the rain his briefcase would still be wet, but its dry as a bone. he's well dressed so I'm assuming he works in an office, judging by the state of his shoes he walks a lot, possibly he works nearby, too near to travel on the tube, I'm guessing he works a typical 9 to 5 day so that would mean he's been here for at least 3 hours, assuming he takes half an hour to travel home.' Sherlock said this at an unreal speed, hardly pausing for breath. he then turned to Lestrade 'have you asked the neighbours if they saw anything?'

'yes, of course we have. And nobody saw anyone leave or enter the house. we're checking cctv…'

'good'

'…but we havn't heard anything back yet.' Lestrade finished off.

'moving onto the wound, it looks about fist-sized, in the place where the heart should be. I assume the heart is missing?' Sherlock said.

'yes.'

'ok, so, It would seem that somebody literally ripped out the heart with bare hands, but that would be impossible, so the only other alternitive would be a blunt knife of some sort…'

'a blunt knife?' John commented

'yes, look at the wound, that's not the work of a sharp instrument, the skin has been hacked at, a sharp instrument would have made a relitively smooth cut.'

'so basically we're looking at kitchen utensils?' Lestrade asked him.

'sort of' Sherlock replied, before sitting down on a nearby sofa, obviously trying to decise what the weapon would be.

'Have you found any blood-stained objects, or anything..'

'Oh use your head, John. It is haighly unlikely that the murderer would leave his weapon at the crime scene. No, no, they'd have thrown it in the Thames, or the sea or somewhere.' Sherlock interrupted

At that moment Anderson walked in. After a hateful glare at Sherlock, he addressed Lestrade.

'there's a group of people here saying that they'll be able to solve it. This is rediculous, I havnt even had the chance to…'

'did they say who they are?' Lestrade asked hin.

'They did, but I forgot.' Sherlock snorted. Anderson continued… 'Something like Touchwood. The main guy has an American accent.'

'send them away.' Lestrade ordered. Anderson nodded and walked away. Soon after this, there was a loud laugh, and an American voice said 'oh yeah? I'd like to see you stop us'. Then the doorway light was cut off and in the way stood a team of five people. In the front was a man who could only be the American one. Sherlock noticed how out of date his clothing was, and that he was also probably gay, judging by his bodily cleanliness and self-grooming. He also noticed how out-of-place his eyes looked, for a man who looked middle aged, his eyes seemed centuries old.

'ok, now, you ametures can move out. We're just gonna take a look at this body, and tell you what we think happenned.' the American said. He noticed Sherlock's quizzical look, and turned to him, stretching out his hand, and in a flirty voice, he introduced himself 'Hi, I'm Captain Jack Harkness'

'I'm not gay, you're wasting your time.' Sherlock replied.

'Oh ho! A smart policeman.' he replied, laughing at himself.

'I'm not a policeman, I'm a consulting detective.' Sherlock stated, getting bored with the conversation.

'What's that?' said a woman with a strong South-Wales accent. Sherlock turned to see a pale brunette looking at them. he noticed instantly the almost-new wedding ring on her finger, her perfectly styled hair and nails, and the alarmingly large gap in her tooth.

'Basically, when the police are out of their depth they come to him to solve the case' John butted in, because he knew Sherlock was about to go into a long-winded explination.

'And what makes him so much better that the Police?' came another voice, a Londoner's voice, but the pronounciation of the letters told Sherlock that he'd speant some time in Wales.

'Oh god…'John groaned, he knew what was about to happen. And sure enough, it did.

'You, welsh woman, you've recently got married to the man of your dreams, no longer than a couple of months ago, but somehow it isnt quite working out judging by the fact the ring is scratched and really rather dirty, so that also suggests that your job involves a lot of dirty work, but if you really loved him. you'd want to keep the ring clean. You all also have a gun hidden in the small of your backs, so quite a violent job than? You, Japanese woman, dressed to impress I see, but if you're based in Wales then you'd hardly know anyone here, so its someone in your gang, not the American one, hes way too old for you and is so obviously gay, and not the quite one over there, who dislikes the fact that you have tomato sauce on you're jacket, no, its going to be the ugly one'

'HEY!'

'oh come on, you know that compared to the Boss we're all hags, now..'

'Hang on, how did you know we're based in Wales?' Sherlock was already getting very annoyed by that Welsh woman.

'Come on, have you heard yourself? plus he's Welsh, you're starting to pick up the accent, and you have welsh writing on your laptop case, it wanst a hard deduction. Anyway, You there' he pointed to the man in the suit 'You're smart, too smart for this job, so you're the office worker, maybe even butler? Skilled with a coffee machine judging by the smell but the lack of stains on you're clothes. You've got a thing on with the boss, or at least you're very close to him, you smell strangly similar. Not really used to the violence, or you don't like it, one or the other, judging by how awkward you look. you there, ugly one, you're a doctor, oh John, I found you a little friend, anyway, you've seen this type of thing before otherwise you wouldn't be so comfortable with….wait…you've seen this before?'

'Like I said,' Captain Harkness spoke, 'This is right up our street. Now you hop along and get a cab home, leave the work to us'

'why should I?' John noticed the defensive tone of Sherlock's voice. No way was he going to let that American take this case away from him.

'Who are you anyway?' Lestrade asked the captain.

'Ianto Jones, Gwen Cooper, Owen Harper and Toshiko Sato. We're Torchwood'

NB – this is set in series 2 of Sherlock, before 'Hound Of The Baskervilles' (or Hounds of Baskerville) and in series 2 Torchwood before Fragments/Exit Wounds. I was gonna set it just before Children Of Earth, but I love Tosh and Owen too much :)

please bear in mind I wrote this while ill, and I havnt eaten in three days, so whether this all makes sense I do not know.

I have tried to write the characters as best as I could, but if I've done anything wrong do say so. Also, feel free to point out any errors – if its one thing I hate, its typo-s and gramatically incorect sentances.

reviews are most welcome. as are any requests.

Ta xx


	3. Who's Torchwood?

Thankyou for all the review/favourite stories guys! Really makes my day!

Third Chapter for you! I wouldn't expect updates very frequently, exam season is approaching and all of my spare time will be devoted to Geography and Art.

Disclaimer:I Own Nothing :(

* * *

><p><em>'Ianto Jones, Gwen Cooper, Owen Harper and Toshiko Sato. We're Torchwood'<em>

John glanced at Sherlock, and saw to his amazement that Sherlock looked as bewildered as John felt. Lestrade, however, laughed out loud.

"Is that the best that you could come up with? Seriously?"

'Torchwood' looked at eachother, each of them looking very un-amused.

"What is Torchwood?' John asked. "I've never heard of you."

"Well, you're not supposed to have, are you. That's the whole point of a Secret Organization, isn't it?" Owen Harper replied.

"Though to be honest, there are a hell of a lot of people who know about us." Jack said.

"Great..but that didn't really answer the question."

"Some questions are better left unanswered." said Toshiko, as she started fiddeling around with a strange-looking device which made a quiet hummimg sound.

"But that is not one of them, so what is your job" Sherlock spoke up.

"There's no point in telling you, you'll never believe us" Owen had a hint of annoyance in his voice

Sherlock looked straight at Owen. "Try me", he said challengingly.

"Our job is to protect the earth from Alien threat, fight for the future, and play naked Hide-And-Seek" Jack told him.

"Although its only those two who play that" Gwen tilted her head towards Ianto.

Sherlock was speechless, for the first time since Mycroft had stolen his eyepatch and toy sword when they were younger. John was equally surprised – he'd never believed in Aliens. He wondered how Shelock would react to this, seeing as he'd never accepted the existnace of the Solar System, let alone other galaxies. However, a loud beeping noise soon brought both of them back to Earth.

The rest of the room was in chaos. Toshiko was frantically fiddeling with the device, which had gone bright orange and was making an ear-piercingly loud noise whilst the rest – including Leastrade – were blocking their ears with their fingers.

"TURN THAT FUCKING THING OFF TOSH" Owen shouted. Toshiko didn't seem to have heard him, so he walked up to her and kicked the device out of her hand, stamping on it until the noise ceased.

"OWEN! That equiptment was hundreds of years old! It's the best thing we have!"

"had. Past tense" Sherlock butt in. He turned to Jack. "And Aliens don't exist"

"I beg to differ" Jack laughed. He found it hilarious how stupid people could be.

"Show me some proof then! You can't expect people to believe in something without proof!"

Jack studied him for a moment. This made Sherlock feel very uncomfortable – he was used to being on the other side of a calculative stare. Jack seemed to notice this, because he looked away quite quickly.

"Ok, lets see…hmmm…proof of alien existance. Well, there's the spaceship over London Christmas Day. The killer Christmas star a year later. The battle of Canary Wharf – a cyberman in every home. Daleks. And a whole bunch of other stuff that your ignorant little mind wouldn't understand"

"Who are you calling ignorant you…" Sherlock was getting angry, but before he could finish his sentence – which John knew would end in an insult – Jack continued.

"oh, and if Alien's didn't exist, I wouldn't be here now. So there. Is that enough proof for you? Cos I could go on, but it gets kinda repetative."

Before either John, Sherlock or Lestrade could say anything, Owen told them to bugger off home. So they did – John flagged down a taxi and Sherlock followed him in.

The journey home was not unusual. John had gotten used to the times when Sherlock didn't speak for hours, sometimes days. John stared out of the window and went over the Torchwood event in his head. Come to think of it, the past few years had had some increadibly strange happennings. He thought back to christmas just gone, with the massive star in the sky. Sherlock had stopped playing his violin when they heard the screams from below, before muttering to himself about terrorists and drugged water and going back to his violin playing. John had been quite drunk at the time, and he had glanced over the scene without any thought, but now he struggled to keep the images in his mind.

Sitting next to John, Sherlock was staring straight infront of him, hands together and resting on his lip. There was quite a battle going on inside his head. One voice – his voice – was telling him that Jack was winding him up – there were no such things as aliens. The other voice – which resembled Mycrofts – was telling him to stop being an idiot and accept the fact that there was more out there than just Planet Earth. It came as a relief when the taxi pulled up outside 221B. Sherlock leapt out and rushed up to the flat, found Johns laptop, sat down and looked at the screen, as if he was hoping that the keys would type themselves. John appeared minutes later and stood awkwardly in the doorway, wondering if he should break the deafening silence. In the end, it was Sherlock that spoke first.

"Do you believe in Aliens, John?"

After a short pause, he continued. "do you believe what the man said?"

"i..um..well…when you look at it…"

"yes or no, John?"

John took a deeop breath. "I suppose..Yes. He did give a lot of relevent evidence"

Sherlock shook his head. He then stood up and walked out of the room and into his bedroom, without so much as a 'night'. John looked at his laptop, which was still on the Yahoo! homepage. He sat down and slowly typed 'Torchwood'. He loked at the top result. 'the **torch** used was **wooden** and cost…'. sighing, he looked down the page, but he found nothing relevent. he added 'Jack Harkness' to his search. Nothing. he added 'Aliens'. Suddenly, a page turned up. 'Queen Victoria and Torchwood'. He clicked on it and started reading. 'Torchwood Institute was set up by Queen Victoria in 1879 to protect the Earth from Alien threat….There are three known to existance, One in London, Glasgow and Cardiff. Torchwood 1 in London was destroyed in 2006 after the invasion of the ghostly metal-men, called Cybermen….Torchwood 3 is in Cardiff, run by Captain Jack Harkness…."

John was still sat at the table when Sherlock awoke the next morning. As he walked in, John turned to him.

"I think you should read this"

* * *

><p>I shall try to get an update by the end of the month, but I cannot promise.<p>

Reviews are most welcome. Reviewers will receive a virtual cupcake! :D

Hatselena xx


	4. AUTHORS NOTE

SORRY IF YOU GOT EXCITED ABOUT A NEW CHAPTER :/

I know it's been a while, but with A levels and everything, I've been too stressed out to even think about writing. However, exams are now OVER, so I have a totally free summer.

I will try to update at least once a fortnight, but I won't make any promises. I have still got 25 episodes of OUAT, 3 series of Supernatural and about 18 series of Doctor Who to catch up on. And I promised my friend I'd watch Roseanne (dammit why do I let Tumblr introduce me to new shows?)

Anyway, thanks for sticking with this story, and I'll (hopefully) have a new chapter in two weeks! 

xxx


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